


Onward

by bleebug



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Closure, F/M, Future Fic, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-20
Updated: 2016-09-20
Packaged: 2018-08-16 09:49:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8097511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bleebug/pseuds/bleebug
Summary: Years after his resurrection, Killian dreams of a changed Underworld and finds some unexpected closure.





	

It’s been years. Killian thought he’d gotten past all the lingering emotional stress from his time in the Underworld, but recently he’s been having these dreams – dreams of a morphed Storybrooke, with a reddened sky and a town full of long-passed residents from every realm imaginable.

The thing is, they aren’t _memories._ There’s something decidedly different about the Underworld in his dreams than the one he recalls being psychologically tormented and physically tortured in all those years ago. He wishes he could put his finger on it, but it’s a tad difficult when, upon waking, the dreams become fuzzy and the images all but fade in his conscious mind.

And they aren’t nightmares, either, which is peculiar. Killian has very few good memories in the Underworld. His reunion with his brother was one. That had given him closure in a way he’d never thought possible. His friends (family, really) saving him from a gruesome fate at the hands of Hades himself, that’s another good one. Discovering that his dearest Emma was, indeed, his True Love... well, that had been one hell of a good memory, even if the subsequent parting with her filled him with despair. Perhaps ‘bittersweet’ is more apropos. Most of his time spent in that dreadful place, though, he’d rather wipe clean from his brain. The searing, electric pain of being at the end of Hades’ lashes. The heart-wrenching feeling of inadequacy and uselessness when the god threatened his loved ones. The pure, unfiltered rage that bubbled inside of him at learning of Milah’s fate, once again fucked over by that devil of a man he spent so long trying to exact revenge upon.

So it comes as a surprise to him that these dreams feel almost calming. He doesn’t toss and turn in his sleep, doesn’t wake in a puddle of his own sweat, doesn’t cry out and wake his darling wife beside him. He breathes evenly. He murmurs softly. He sighs and lets the dreams guide him with no intervention from the part of his brain responsible for panic and fear.

While he usually forgets details after he wakes, he does remember walking. Just walking. He strolls along the sidewalks, passing familiar and unfamiliar faces of adults and children alike. No one seems to take notice of him; perhaps like they aren’t even aware of his existence in their space. He doesn’t know what he’s doing there or why, but he doesn’t even think to consider this while in the dream. It feels normal to be there, like he never even left in the first place.

He tells Emma after the dreams recur for nearly two months. She tries to comfort him, but he assures her he doesn’t need it. They aren’t bothering him at all. They’re just a curious thing. An oddity he isn’t sure what to do about.

At her suggestion, though, he begins to see Archie a few times a month. He’s not quite sure what talking it out with the cricket-man will do, but he shares regardless. At first, he thinks the whole thing is rather silly. But soon, his little talks actually help him retain memories of the dream better. The clock tower looks to be restored to its natural place, looking over the citizens going about their after-lives. The grass isn’t dried and dead, the tan-brown that he remembers it to be from those weeks he spent there. No, now it’s actually sort of green, if tinted by the red sun overhead. And there are flowers. There are so many flowers. Those have certainly never been there before.

After another two months, he knows that he’s looking for something when he’s walking along the streets. He’s not quite sure what it is yet. All he knows is that he’s walking _towards_  something, not just randomly circling about in the town.

When he wakes up, sometimes he feels disappointed that the dream still has yet to reach its climax. He knows there’s more to it. He knows there’s something for him to see.

Archie recommends that he writes down his thoughts and feelings immediately upon waking. Perhaps it’ll help him discover what it is he’s looking for.

The first note he doesn’t even remember writing. He’d woken up at three in the morning and reached to the side table, scribbling down a few words before helplessly falling back asleep. When he wakes again, he sees, “Heart, journey, lost, helping,” and he has no clue what he must’ve meant.

Notes following read similarly. “Finding.” “Back.” “Death didn’t stay.” “Here, here, here.” “King.” “Fixed.” “Keep walking.” “She’s here.”

That last one gives him pause. While the rest don’t seem to make much sense on their own, he knows there’s only one “she” he could possibly care about.

Milah.

He does regret leaving her behind, not being able to save her. There’s plenty of demons hiding in his past that he’s never been able to get rid of, and maybe this is another.

When he brings the topic up with Archie, the doctor muses for a few long moments.

“Look, Killian,” he eventually says, his placating therapist tone still so soothing to the ears. “I’ve dealt with all kinds of issues before. Plenty of folks have had recurring dreams about their past, sometimes nightmares they can’t get over. But I’m also aware that there is magic everywhere, in every realm – even this one if you take the time to search for it. Maybe we should consider that these dreams _aren’t_ a subconscious or psychological manifestation of your past regrets.”

“Not sure I’m following, mate,” he returns. He shifts a little on the sofa in his office, picking at the corner of the pillow to his side.

“What I’m saying... is that perhaps you might ask Regina about this.”

Killian chuckles disbelievingly.

“You want me to ask Regina to assess my dreams?”

“I want you to ask Regina if it’s possible that someone from the Underworld could contact you.”

His sarcastic smile drops from his face in an instant.

“Are you saying you think...?” He couldn’t even finish his question, still shell-shocked from the realization that it _was_  possible. Cruella may have destroyed the phone box that allowed the dead to speak to their living loved ones, but the magic or technology or whatever the hell it was _had_  existed in the first place.

“I’m no expert in magic, Killian. But after our numerous sessions, I just feel like we should explore all options instead of assuming this is something I can actually help you with.”

He tells Emma about it that night and she’s nothing but encouraging. If there’s any possible way that Milah, or _anyone_  from the Underworld, is trying to contact him, he needs to find out. And she promises him they’ll do just that.

Together, they go to see Regina. While the woman grumbles that he should’ve seen her sooner, she doesn’t hesitate to offer her services to help out her (sometimes begrudging) friend.

She takes him into one of the many spare rooms in her mansion of a house and tells him to lie down. What follows is a spell that plays out almost like hypnotism. There’s no potion to drink or object to pour liquid over; it’s just Regina reciting some ancient tongue, lulling him into sleep without even trying.

And then he’s there.

And it’s so _clear_.

It feels like he’s physically back in the Underworld. He’d feel like shuddering in disgust or anxiety, but the place just looks so crazily different than it did when he was dead. The red sky isn’t as red as it used to be, almost the kind of orangey-pink you’d see reflected in a sunset. The people walking around him almost look happy, like they’re more at peace than they ever were before. There are also fewer people than he remembers. Obviously, whatever King Arthur had been doing to help fix the “broken kingdom” had been working.

Ah! King Arthur.

If anyone knows who it is that’s been trying to contact him, it’s the new ruler of the Underworld. And if it turns out that it _is_  Milah...

He shakes his head, unwilling to let himself hope.

He searches for what seems like hours, stepping inside stores and shops, asking residents about the King’s whereabouts. No one seems to have a good answer for him. The King is apparently quite busy and never stays long in one place.

He can sort of hear Regina and Emma’s voices in the back of his mind, almost as hazy as the dreams had been when he wasn’t walking around in them. They aren’t talking _to_  him, he can tell, but it’s a comfort to hear them anyway.

He’s about to head toward his house, the Underworld version of his home with Emma, when he feels this strange sensation deep in his gut. It’s the sea. It’s calling to him, the feeling so strong that it reminds him of a siren’s song. But unlike those, this doesn’t seem sinister in the least. It feels so familiar. It feels like his old life – not as Captain Hook, but as Captain Jones.

His feet take him to the docks. Why he didn’t come here first, he doesn’t know. He sees the Jolly floating in the harbor. His ship is still back in Storybrooke, he knows, but seeing her here too is a little off-putting. A few planks of wood and a sail, she is not. Oh but she is magnificent. Even this version of her, the sails tattered and the paint chipping and the boards creaking loudly as she bobs in the murky waters.

And suddenly he just _knows_.

Milah is onboard. Milah is the captain of this ship. And honestly, he feels there is no person more capable or worthy of the position.

He walks up slowly, his footfalls as light as he can make them.

No one is on deck, but that’s no surprise. She’s docked, not sailing in deep waters.

“Permission to come aboard?” he asks, praying his voice sounds steady.

There’s silence for a beat and he spends a grand total of three seconds wondering if he’d been wrong.

And then there’s a loud _clunk_  below deck, the clear sounds of someone scurrying around before the door across the deck flies open.

And she’s _there_. She’s _real_. She’s _alive_. Well, not alive. But she’s animated and there’s light shining in her eyes and Gods above, she’s more beautiful than he remembers. It’s been nigh on three centuries since he’s seen her and he doesn’t even know how to process it.

There’s no space between them now and Killian doesn’t know who accomplished that or if the two of them moved in sync, meeting in the middle to throw their arms around each other.

“You’re here!” she yells into his shoulder. “You bloody wanker, I’ve been waiting months!”

He can’t help but laugh. She’s just as wonderfully feisty as ever and he’s instantly brought back to those few years he had with her before his life took a horrible turn for the worse. He remembers teaching her the finer points of sword fighting on the deck of the Jolly Roger, fixing her posture and technique while simultaneously flirting relentlessly. He remembers staying locked in the captain’s cabin with her for days on end after making port, while his crew drank themselves into oblivion and spent their nights with pretty little things for coin. He remembers her eyes alit with wonder at the shimmering jewels and intricately designed apparel in the street shops of Agrabah, her hand dragging him along behind her as she slipped small trinkets in her pockets with a sly smile and a wink.

“Missed you,” he finds himself muttering into her curly black locks. She pushes him away and hits him square in the chest, but her smile betrays her happiness. “Darling, how are you here? How are you...” He gestures wildly, unable to voice his thoughts.

“Not a green, flying, soulless phantom?” she supplies, that twisted smirk pulling at his insides with a deep nostalgia. He nods, eyes flickering around her face as if to burn her features into his memory. “You can thank our king for that.”

“Arthur?”

“Aye, that bloke. Dunno what the bloody hell that man did, but there are more of us coming back from the river every day.” She brushes her hands across his cheeks. “It was dark in there. Cold. Lonely. I felt like I was a little girl, just lost in the middle of the ocean with nothing but a tiny little rowboat to hold me above water. And after... after such a long time of just... just feeling so empty and alone, I saw this beacon. And I started rowing towards it. It was a long way away and some days it felt like I wasn’t getting any closer. But somehow I made it. I reached that light and then my hand was above water and I was crawling out on the docks, right over there.”

She gestures not far from the ship they're standing on and Killian is just completely dumbstruck.

“When was this?”

“It’s been nearly six months now,” she says. Her fingers grip at the sleeve of his jacket and it’s something she used to do often so he can’t help but sigh contentedly. “The king’s found many useful spells and items in Hades’ old lair, including a way to replicate the pay phone so the townspeople can speak to their loved ones up above.”

He furrows his brow in confusion and sees her lips tilt upward when she notices. She reaches up and pressed the pad of her thumb over the crease between his brows to try and smooth it out.

“But the phone only lets you talk... how is it that I’m actually here? How is it that I can see you and touch you and...” He touches her cheek, gently and reverently.

“Another spell of his.” She shrugs a little, but the creases beside her eyes seem permanently etched into her skin as she fights to hold back her smile. “I got special treatment for knowing you. I just needed...” Her stunning blue eyes glisten with unshed tears and he doesn’t even bother to hold his own back. “I needed to see you. To tell you I’m okay. That I’m ready to move on from this place.”

“Oh, Milah,” he breathes, caressing her waist through the fabric of her shirt and drawing her towards him. He smiles through his tears. “That’s wonderful. You’ve no idea how happy I am for you.”

“If it’s anywhere near how happy I am to know you’re alive and in love with a strong, wonderful woman... I think I do know, my dear.”

He chuckles, leaning forward to press his forehead to hers.

“Aye. Heard you met her.”

“I greatly approve, you know. That lass came all the way down here to save you. I’d never accept you being with anyone who loved you less. Send her my love when you see her.”

“I’ll always love you, you know,” he says softly.

It’s true. While he loves Emma – truly, passionately, more than anything and everything in all the realms, more than his own life – he will never forget his Milah.

“And I love you.”

She pulls away from him, cheeks rounded from her wide smile, and gives him a very soft, tender peck on the lips. He kisses her back, though it’s not the kind he’d have blessed her with when they were together. It’s chaste and pure.

It’s a goodbye. A real, proper goodbye.

He feels lighter when he wakes. He feels like a huge burden, that he wasn’t even aware was weighing him down, is lifted right from his shoulders.

“Are you okay?” It’s Emma’s voice and it’s so comfortable and warm and it feels like home. “How did it go? Did you see her?”

He lets himself slowly blink his tired eyes open and the image of her concerned face fills his vision. She’s gorgeous. Beautiful. The most lovely thing he’s ever seen in his life.

“Aye, my love, I saw her.” She smiles excitedly, so plainly happy to see that he was able to get the closure with her that he’d always needed. “She sends her love.”

The dreams stop after that. He knows she’s moved on and it comforts him greatly to know she’s likely with Bae now. He likes to think that, wherever they ended up, perhaps the two of them have mended their relationship. He felt responsible for tearing their family apart for the longest time. Now, bringing them together again... it’s just another thing to be grateful for.


End file.
